The Bonny Prince
by Jormund Elver
Summary: A century after the rise of the Champion of Kirkwall, the city finds itself in chains again, this time of the Chantry-led Holy Empire, which now encompasses nearly all of Thedas and holds it in an iron grip of oppression and fanaticism. It is a different age and a different Thedas. Can another Hawke and another Warden rise again and overthrow the oppressors - one more time?
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: On the off-chance that you recognize anything, it probably belongs to wherever you remember it from.

**Chapter One – Sally from the Alley**

Talis Senna, the world-weary and white-haired keeper of the tavern that bore his name, narrowed his eyes as a small, unmarked carriage emerged from the darkness of the late evening towards his door. _Senna's Retreat _stood at the edge of Lowtown, somewhere between the bracing depravity of the Docks and the festering depression of the Alienage. Kirkwall was a city that had changed considerably in the century that had elapsed since the rise to power of Marian Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall, but the demarcations of the city had not – Hightown still housed the rich and powerful, Lowtown the teeming multitudes aspiring to break through the shackles of their birth and class, and Darktown was where the desperate and the criminal sought their refuges.

The carriage slowed down as it approached and the driver pulled the reins right, turning the two-horse carriage and propelling it through the outer gate of _Senna's Retreat _before he brought to a halt at the door. Talis remained at the door, watching as his man-of-all work, Martin, took charge of the horses as the driver stepped down and opened the door.

Talis waited till Martin was out of earshot before he acknowledged the handsomely-dressed man who had alighted from the carriage.

"Good evening, my lord," he said. "Sally, as usual?"

The man he had addressed as 'my lord' nodded in acknowledgement. He wore a hat on his head, despite the lateness of the hour, and his features were all but indistinguishable, but Talis was well aware of them – the too-black hair, the too-perfect moustache, the too-clever expression.

Talis led the man around the walls of his tavern, towards an unlighted staircase that led up to the corridor of the first storey of the building. He climbed up first, the guest staying well behind. Alighting at the top of the stairs, he opened the door, which was latched from the outside and stepped in, his guest remaining without.

The corridor was crowded, as was usually the case at that time. The crowd comprised of a dozen males of varying sizes and, from the quality or raiment, varying walks of life ranging from the richer trading classes to the labourers of the Undercity. Three were elves and two were dwarves, fingering their rich beards. The other seven were men. Their attention was focussed on the first door on the left.

"Clear off, you lot. Sally has a special guest."

Groans all around.

"Should be finished in an hour or so. You can try the drinks downstairs till then."

More protests, mostly to the tune of "Must those Hightown bastards have our whore too, isn't it bad enough they take our freedom?", but they obeyed.

Talis knocked the door of the room on his left – three sharp raps - before entering.

"Get out, rat," he said to the Darktown man who was hastily buttoning up his breeches. As the shabbily dressed man fled through the door, Talis turned his attention to the object of all the fuss, Sally Loew, who was pulling up her dress, a rich pink dress that had once been expensive and was still very tight-fitting, over what Talis was sure were the most spectacular breasts in the Free Marches.

"It's the Viscount," he said simply.

"I guessed," she replied in a husky voice with a hint of embers burning in a charcoal fire, attaching an earring to her right ear.

Talis looked her over. Sally was a tall woman, and as thin as a spindle, but her body was all sinew and muscles, with a stomach as hard as a brick wall. The only anomaly was her enormous breasts, which Talis was certain were magically enhanced in some way, because her frame could not possibly naturally have grown them. He supposed it made sense for someone in her line of work, though it made her appear grotesque to him, and was the reason why he had never himself partaken of her services, despite the fact that she had been operating from his tavern for the better part of ten years and had offered them to him on more than one occasion. Apart from that she was pretty enough, with a square face and smooth skin, though her eyes were probably a touch too small and her nose just slightly too crooked to be considered truly beautiful. She did have striking long, straight dark hair, which Talis actually found more beautiful than her oversized breasts.

"You can send him in now," she said, setting her hair in place.

Talis nodded and stepped back out of the room. He pulled back the door onto the staircase, to find his illustrious guest standing on the landing.

"She will be glad to receive you, my lord," he said.

The Viscount nodded curtly and entered the room.

Talis stepped back out on the staircase and latched the door from the outside again. It was a regular ritual, the visit of the Viscount of Kirkwall to Sally Loew, but as the day and time when he would come was not fixed, the side staircase, the latched door, the three-rap knock…all little codes, little rituals that he and Sally had worked out between themselves.

He returned to the front of the tavern, where the Viscount's driver was chatting with Martin. As Talis approached, the man patted Martin on the arm and raised his hat to the tavern-keeper.

"Antivan brandy?" Talis asked him, as they stepped into the tavern together.

"As always," the man nodded. He was an elf, tall and thin, with shiny dark hair falling over his shoulders.

They settled on a table. Talis signalled to his son Cilla behind the bar, who brought the bottle of brandy and two glasses before them.

"Is that the second visit this week, then, Dominic?" asked Talis with a smile.

"I remember when he used to only visit once a month," nodded the elf, speaking with a light Antivan accent. "In the twelve-month he's been Viscount, I believe he's spent more time with Sally than the Viscountess."

"Well, Dom, in the old days before the – displacement of the Hawke family - there was the brothel – The Blooming Rose. It allowed patrons to spread their seed, if you get what I mean," laughed Talis. "Now the whores have to operate clandestinely since the Viscount shut them down on the advice of the Chantry."

"The chantry's decisions are sacrosanct, of course," said Dom. "I know little of Kirkwall, though I hear that it was a very different place before the fall of the Hawke family."

"Oh yes, very different. Kirkwall was the last of the Free cities to fall under the Holy Empire, you know. Lord Malcolm Hawke II only accepted Chantry control thirty years ago, and it was as recent as ten years ago that the Orlesian army moved in and unseated Lady Darlene Hawke and ended the autonomy of Kirkwall within the Empire."

"Ah yes, the Hawke family. There's still a lot of respect for them, isn't it?"

"For their memory, yes, I suppose. The rebels are sworn to restore the Hawke family to power in Kirkwall – though how they propose to do so when there is no Hawke left, I don't know."

"Well, the rebel leader Lucky Amell is related to the Hawke family, his great-great grandfather was the Uncle of Marian Hawke."

"An Amell isn't quite the same, even if he has named his outfit the Hawkes," said Talis, fingering his glass. His eyes darted around the room even as he drank, seeming to observe all movements.

"He calls them the Silver Hawks, actually," said Dominic. "I don't know if it's meant to be a reference to the family or some sort of allegory. Either way, their activity has greatly increased of late."

Talis shrugged, as if to indicate he had little more to contribute.

"In the past six months, seven of the top officials in the Viscount's administration have been assassinated, as you know well."

"Yes, I remember thinking it was rather careless of them to allow themselves to be assassinated like that," commented Talis, indifferently, his eyes on Martin, who had entered the tavern to serve the men gathered at the long end-table.

"The Viscount is committed to rooting them out, once and for all," Dom went on.

"That would be commendable," said Talis. "Business is always better when there is peace."

"As always, you take the practical view, my friend, as I thought you would. In fact, I had to ask your help in our effort against this menace."

"You're the chief of the City Guard and the Viscount's right-hand man, Dom. Surely you know more about the Hawks than I possibly could," said the old tavern-keeper.

"And yet, the Hawks must be coming here."

"What are you implying?" asked Talis, the faintest hint of an edge to his voice.

"Merely that the Hawks are comprised of men and women of Kirkwall, which means they must be passing through your doors at some point of time."

"There are many taverns in Kirkwall, Dominic," said Talis. "At least as long as the Chantry allows us to function."

"Aye, there are many taverns in Kirkwall, but there is only one Sally Loew, and she only entertains clients in _your _tavern. Which means that men who use her services have to pass through here – and if I'm not mistaken, almost all the men in Kirkwall have used her services at some time or the other."

"Sally and I go back a long way," said Talis defensively. "And we have always been on the side of the authorities. In fact that's how it all began – when the Chantry sent forces from Orlais to occu – assimilate Kirkwall into the Holy Empire, my tavern was where most of the soldiers had been quartered before their final assault on Hightown and the Gallows. Sally was one of their camp followers, said she had come from Ferelden to make her fortune – and I believe she made a pretty one that night, forty soldiers at ten silver pieces each. She's stayed here ever since."

"Hmm. Charming story. But you're saying she's been here for a decade, then?"

"Well, yes."

"Strange that she looks so young, then. I could've sworn she doesn't look a day over twenty-one. Another strange thing – my sources tell me that all those men were assassinated while they were heading to, or from, your tavern to have a go with Sally, presumably."

"She hasn't changed at all since I've known her, Dom. Possibly the same magic that has given her that outsized bust. And don't go suspecting her of having anything to do with your precious assassinations. Sally is just a girl – well a woman, I suppose she must be thirty or thereabouts now – who loves nothing better than a cock in her."

"Oh I know that," said Dominic, with a slight smile. "But while she may not be directly involved, it's obvious that the Hawks do know exactly who her patrons are and when they visit."

"Oh come now, Dom. You said yourself, Sally's got a lot of patrons. Maker knows I've told her to raise her charges a thousand times, but she always tells me not to be ridiculous, she'd do it for free if she didn't have to pay me rent."

"True, true. So you won't mind if I keep one of my men here at all times, just to keep his eyes and ears open, see who comes and goes, eh?"

Talis gripped his glass tightly. For all the politeness in Dominic's voice there was no ambiguity about the fact that he was issuing an order, not making a request. Dominic was not just the Captain of the City Guard – he was also his eyes and ears in the city and rumoured to be an assassin who had once been, or still was, a member of the Antivan Crows. Antagonising him was not an option.

"It would look a little suspicious if a man was just sitting here all day," said Talis feebly.

"Oh, but he wouldn't sit, my good man. He'd work for you, and you wouldn't even have to pay him."

"I have all the men I need…"

"He could replace Martin."

"I suppose he could, but that would arouse suspicion as well..."

"Not if Martin had to leave because he joined the City Guard."

"But.."

"The lad is fifteen, right? He said he was when I offered him the post a half-hour ago."

Talis gave a resigned sigh.

"I see you've thought of everything," he said.

"I try to."

The two men sat for a while longer, mostly eyeing each other in silence. Talis was relieved when the elf finally took his leave.

"Martin," he called to the boy, once the Viscount and his bodyguard had been sent on their way.

"Yes sir, Master Senna sir," said the fair-haired lad, in an apologetic tone. "About taking up the offer to join the Guard..."

"No, that's fine, really," said Tallis, not looking at the boy.

"I mean it's just that I would have to look for something else to do eventually, and..."

"I said it's all right, Martin. I quite understand."

"Oh."

There was an awkward silence. Tallis kept his eyes fixed on the staircase. Two men, visibly dishevelled, descended and staggered towards the door, singing a drunken verse whose refrain went

'_We came so much, she needed a glass,_

_To swallow it all, she did not pass,_

_And she's the finest whore in Thedas"_

"So you'll be living in the Barracks up in Hightown?"

"I suppose so. They said it's six months of training and then they start assigning me to a senior officer. If I'm any good, I'll get my own command after I complete three years."

"Yes, it will be good if you survive. I wish you well – we all do, you know."

"Yes sir."

"When do you leave?"

"I was thinking in the morning, sir, seeing as how I don't have much by way of possessions to gather or..."

"Yes, you're right. The earlier the better no doubt. That's fine. We wish you well, we all do."

Martin observed the older man in silence. It was not like Talis to be vague and repetitive.

"You've been with us for nine years, you know, Martin. You were a little child running around Lowtown when I took you in."

"And very grateful I am that you did, sir."

"Yes, yes. It was Sally who brought you, you know. She wishes you well. We all wish you well, you know."

Martin nodded. He knew they all did.

"Well, um...you should probably take the rest of the night off."

"All right."

"There will always be a table for you at the tavern, Martin."

"Thank you, sir."

"And, uh, you should probably see Sally before you go."

"She will be busy, sir."

"I'll have someone knock on your door when she is finished."

Martin took his leave of Talis and headed out of the tavern towards the stables. He had a small room next to the horses' stalls where he slept. Entering it, he began to gather his meagre possessions in a cloth bag. That done, he curled up on his straw-lined bed and soon fell asleep, his dreams full of swords and deeds of valour.

Back in the tavern, Talis continued at his post behind the bar, cleaning glasses and serving the occasional patron until about an hour past midnight, when he shut the door. Around two hours later, Sally's last customer having left, he went upstairs to her room.

Entering without knocking, he found the woman stretched out on her bed, her eyes closed and signs of her customer's presence very much in evidence. Her entire torso was seemingly drenched in seed.

"Sally," said Talis urgently.

She opened her eyes.

"Oh hello, Talis," she said, quite nonchalantly. Getting to her feet, she began to wipe herself with a wet cloth.

"Had a good day?" he asked.

"Oh yes, quite wonderful," Sally smiled, wiping her oversized breasts.

"I just came to tell you that Martin will be leaving us," went on Talis.

"Oh really? Where is he going?" she asked, now pulling on her smallclothes.

"Joining the City Guard. Dominic came and offered to take him on while his master was in here making love to you."

"Oh. Why would he take notice of our Martin, though?"

"We'll be getting a new man in place of Martin, you know," said Talis, ignoring her question.

"Oh, how nice. The Viscount's office is taking notice of us."

"Yes, they are," said Talis.

"How old is the Viscount's son?" asked Sally, pulling the soiled sheets off the bed.

"He comes of age next month. The Viscount will have quite the ball, no doubt."

"I should go catch up with Martin before he goes."

"Yes, you should," agreed Talis. "The boy would appreciate it."

She wasted no time, pulling a cloak over her body and hastening downstairs. She knew her way around the premises well enough to be able to find her way to Martin's room in the dark. The room had no latch, and opened at a slightly firm push.

Martin started out of his slumber as he felt a warm body press against his. It was dark, but he did not have to use his eyes to know who it was. He was well-acquainted with her scent, the mixture of the sweet smell of rose petals and the pungent odour of the men who had her.

"Sally," he exclaimed, half-rising.

"In the flesh," she replied. He felt rather than saw her light a candle and place it on the floor.

"I was going to come to meet you in the morning," he said, breathing sharply as he realised that she sat wearing only her small clothes. With equal parts arousal and admiration, he contemplated her perfectly muscled stomach. In the dim light, it struck Martin that with her elongated and pinched waist, she looked rather snake-like.

"You know I like my beauty sleep by daylight, Martin," she smiled. "And I did not want to miss you."

They sat for a while, contemplating each other.

"I will miss you, Martin."

"I will miss you too, Sally. You've been a good friend."

"So they will teach you to fight with a sword and stuff, then?" she asked.

"I guess," he replied. "That's kind of the point of being a guard, isn't it?"

"And you'll be a loyal henchman of the Viscount, then, I guess."

"I suppose so."

"Yes. You know, I suppose it is fitting. I mean, your father was a City guard too."

Martin's eyebrows rose.

"You never mentioned you knew my father!" he exclaimed.

"He was a member of Lady Darlene Hawke's personal guard. After her defeat, they put him in the gallows with the rest of the guard who were loyal to the Hawke family. They used to often have us girls over there for the use of the soldiers who were running the show until the Holy Empire placed their Viscount on the throne. I used to pleasure your father sometimes when the soldiers were distracted – very handsome man he was, too. Finally he caught a wasting disease, like so many of them, but before he died, he told me about you, and how he had sent you out of the barracks to mingle with the urchins in Lowtown when he realised that there was no hope of winning the battle. I kind of promised him I'd look out for you – and the best way to do that was to bring you in to work with old Talis. And now, here you are."

"Why did you never tell me this before!" he asked angrily, rising to his feet and pacing the floor.

"You never asked," she shrugged. "And it never seemed important. He left you no message, you know. Nor did he tell me who your mother was or anything. I only remembered about it when Talis told me you were to join the Guard. Do your duty, Martin, and make your father proud."

Martin shrugged and looked at the floor.

"Yeah, I guess."

"Look after yourself, Martin. It's a dangerous job, and I'd hate to think of you putting yourself in danger."

"I'm sure I'll be fine."

"I suppose we won't be seeing much of each other now."

"Why not? Don't the men of the City Guard come to fuck you?" asked Martin, his voice curt.

"Well yes they do."

"But you won't take me if I come, right?" he asked.

"No, I mean..." she sounded apologetic.

"It's all right. You brought me in, got the old man to give me food and a place to sleep. That's fine."

"What are you going on about, Martin?" she asked in an even tone.

"You know I love you, Sally!" he near-shouted.

"Martin, you're fifteen," she replied. "You don't know what love..."

"How old was Charl when he first came to you? Or Gideon? Amory?"

"Those boys just wanted to lose their virginity, Martin..."

"Every boy in Kirkwall has you as soon as they have enough money to pay you and are old enough to know what to do with their cocks."

"Martin..."

"But not me, right? What's it about me that you don't like?"

"Martin, if you would just listen..."

"Go away, Sally."

She rose to her feet and pulled her cloak around herself. She made a move for the door but then stopped herself and, walking back to Martin, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. Their lips remained locked for what seemed like an eternity to Martin, whose emotions suddenly welled up and broke forth in a torrent when she finally pulled away.

"I love you, Sally," he whimpered. "I've loved you for so long...I don't care that you sleep with all those men or that you don't love me...just – let me love you, Sally!"

"Martin," she said, her voice soft but her tone firm. "You are going to start a new life. Study your craft, learn to use a sword, be the best fighter you can be. You're a good boy, and you will be a good man. To waste your life loving a ten-silver whore would little become you. If you persist in this folly, I shall have no choice but to leave Kirkwall."

"Where will you go?" asked Martin incredulously. "Whoring is outlawed throughout the rest of the Empire. The moment you are out of the Viscount's protection the Chantry and their dogs will have you executed."

"I can only stay if you promise not to return."

"I will not stop loving you, Sally," said Martin determinedly, as he watched her open the door. "But fine, I promise I will not look for you here."

"Thank you, Martin. You will thank me one day. Good bye."

She disappeared into the darkness, leaving Martin glaring after her. A gust of wind blew out the solitary candle, and darkness engulfed him too.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: On the off-chance that you recognize anything, it probably belongs to wherever you remember it from.

**Chapter Two - De Laney, we hardly knew ye.**

Dominic looked upon the two cadets practising in the warm Marcher sun. There was something almost poetic about how Martin fought. When Dominic had recruited him two years ago, it had been purely in order to install his own man in the tavern, which he was sure, was a Silver Hawk safe-house of sorts. As it had turned out, he had seen nothing to suggest that this was the case. The whore, Sally, seemed a harmless enough woman, though the elf was increasingly worried by how dependent the Viscount had become on her. It had begun to become a serious inconvenience – the Viscount spending so much time at Senna's tavern that the business of the state was getting increasingly difficult to carry out.

But Martin – the lad was a pleasure to behold. He had taken to fighting like a fish to water, and was soon remarkably proficient with a sword and shield, easily the best of the new recruits they had taken on at the time, and soon enough, one of the best in the entire Guard. The lad had a natural aptitude for defence, and his strength was prodigious, easily able to overpower his sparring companions. Out on the streets and around Kirkwall, he had been equally effective, proving his mettle against bandits and mages alike.

"Dominic!"

The Elf turned and nodded at the burly, heavily armoured man who was climbing up the steps towards him. The Guards' training grounds were behind the Viscount's Keep, elevated high over the rest of Kirkwall, looking inland, away from the city. It was a climb of over a hundred steps to get to where they were, and it was hardly surprising that the man, encumbered as he was with the metal suit of the Templars, was sweating nearly as profusely as Martin and his sparring partner.

"Ser Bosley," acknowledged Dominic, once the man was close enough.

"I have been looking all over for you," said the Templar.

"I'm flattered to have been the subject of attention of so august a personage as yourself," said Dominic, with the sort of exaggerated politeness that might have offended a less oblivious person than the one he was addressing.

"I bring a message from the Revered Mother," the man huffed.

"I am all ears for Her Grace's honeyed words," acknowledged Dominic.

"Yes, right. Err. Well, she wants to see you."

"Of course. When?"

"As soon as possible, she said."

"I will make the necessary arrangements," said Dominic smoothly.

The men stood in silence for a while. Each evidently expected something of the other.

"She sounded like she meant it urgently," said the Templar, finally.

"No doubt she meant it urgently," agreed Dominic.

"You might want to get a move on it."

The elf fixed his eyes on the taller, heavier man.

"I'll get a move on it when I want to, Ser Bosley. You're free to go on ahead."

There was always something unnerving about the elf's eyes. Few could hold that stare for long.

When the Templar had finally left him alone, Dominic had the sparring sessions stopped and gestured to Martin to follow him.

Together they walked through the Viscount's Keep to the barracks and entered the Captain's office.

"Guardsman Martin," said Dominic, arming himself with his knives and sword. "I've been summoned by Her Grace."

Martin resisted the urge to say that if he needed to be this heavily armed to pay a visit to the Chantry, what would he do if invited by the Carta to pay them a little visit. Instead he nodded respectfully.

"So I'll need you to attend to a task in my stead."

"Of course, Captain," said Martin with a smart salute.

"You will have to accompany the Viscount."

"Yes, Captain. Where to?"

Dominic replied by cocking one eyebrow.

"What, now?" said a surprised Martin.

Dominic clicked his tongue.

"Is there a problem, Martin?"

"No, no sir."

"That will be all, Martin."

That taken care of, Dominic headed towards the Chantry.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The rebuilt Chantry of Kirkwall was as imposing as the structure it had replaced, but not nearly as beautiful. The building was striking enough, in sandstone and marble, but Dominic could not help thinking it had a decrepit look about it already, only ten years after its construction.

The Revered Mother sat in her study in the right wing. Dominic walked in and helped himself to a seat.

Mother Jelena was about forty years old, with hair that were still mostly black and a face that lacked any sort of sharpness whatsoever, other than her small but piercing eyes. She was writing in a large book when Dominic entered and continued to do so for a while after he sat.

Dominic sat patiently, not saying a word. The minutes went by, and the priestess showed no sign of acknowledging his presence. He continued to sit, still as a stone. Finally, when she reached the end of the page she was writing on, she made a show of looking up from the page for the first time and pursed her lips at him.

"Serah Dominic," she said. "You are late."

"The large tin kettle you had sent to fetch me did not mention any particular time at which you had requested my presence," replied Dominic.

"You shall not insult a Templar of the Chantry in this manner!" sputtered the priestess.

"All right," he said agreeably, "I'll find some other manner to insult him in."

"Do you know why I have summoned you here?" she asked, the anger rising in her voice.

"I'm sure it was a pressing matter," replied Dominic politely. "Though I must say I am not unused to being summoned by women on pressing matters."

He watched her face turn alternately red and blue with satisfaction.

"I have asked you here to discuss some very important issues, Serah."

"I await the discussion on these important issues with bated breath, your grace."

She clicked her tongue, put her hands on the table, raised them again and then finally spoke.

"Kirkwall has a very special place in the Holy Empire, Serah."

"I'm sure you tell that to every formerly independent state, your grace."

"Kirkwall is the newest state to accede to the Empire," she said, ignoring his interruption. "And therefore, the one to which the Chantry feels the rest of the Empire looks upon with particular attention to serve as a shining example for future accessions."

That elicited genuine surprise from Dominic.

"But there is nothing left to accede, your grace. The Holy Empire covers all of Thedas other than Tevinter and the Qunari lands..."

She continued to look at him with an inscrutable face. Dominic's surprised expression slowly changed to one of amusement.

"If you think Tevinter is going to accede to the Empire because Kirkwall is a model colony, you must be hallucinating."

"Maybe it will and maybe it won't, Serah. But you would know, wouldn't you? You are from Tevinter yourself."

"I am from Antiva, your grace," said Dominic. "Is that not well-known?"

"You would be surprised how many things that are well-known are not true, or how many true things are not well-known. For example, you did not know that I am from Kirkwall myself, did you?"

"No, but I never bothered to find out," replied Dominic.

"Maybe you should have, Serah. Maybe you should have. Before I became a sister in the Chantry, I was the daughter of a serving girl at the Viscount's Keep."

"Fascinating. I don't see what this has to do with me, though. And while I'd be fascinated to hear about how, while cleaning the Viscount's chamber-pots, the Maker called to you, I do have some important work to take care of..." Dominic half-rose.

"Of course you do. I'm sorry to see you go, I was so looking forward to talking to you about Orana."

Dominic had been nearly at the door when she said the name. He stopped.

"How old are you, Dominic? It's so hard to tell with you Elves. You do live such a very long time, you know."

He did not reply.

"I'm only asking to find out how old you were when you lost your mother. That is to say, you were taken from her, and sold to slavers. So technically, she lost you."

Dominic whirled around and strode back to the chair where he had been seated, but did not sit down. Peering into the woman's eyes, he spoke in an even tone, "The Chantry is really good at making up fascinating lies, isn't it?"

"They are not lies, Dominic, as evidenced by the fact that you're still here. Sit down."

He did not move.

"You see, Dominic, my mother, in the Keep, did tell me of Orana, the Elf who was the lady-in-waiting to the Hawke family since the time of Lady Marian...and how her lovely young son disappeared while playing in the streets one fine day, never to be seen again. Of course, that was...eighty years ago now..."

The Elf sat down.

"Orana was heart-broken, of course, and withdrew to herself, resigning from her position in the Viscount's household. She lived as a complete recluse, in a secluded wing of the Keep, seeing no one but the woman assigned to looking after her needs. Cailan Hawke, who was the Viscount at the time, spent considerable resources on trying to trace the Elf's lost son, but he was never found. The evidence linking the disappearance to slavers was circumstantial, but it seemed the only reasonable explanation."

Dominc's face continued to be stony.

"She lived out her prolonged Elvish life for another fifty years, little bothering about political upheavals happening around her. She had a rather nice, if bare, suite of rooms to herself, where she sat contemplating a painting of her lost son. She would stare at it for hours at an end. Sometimes she also sat with a painting of a very beautiful golden-haired woman and sometimes of a handsome elf."

Dominic's breath seemed to have become noticeably shorter.

"She was less than eighty years old when she died. Quite young, for an elf, don't you think? In fact, you're already older than that."

"I don't know what you're talking about," said Dominic, but there was little conviction in his voice.

"No, but I do. You see, Dominic, or Deveron, to call you by your real name, in the last years of her life, I was assigned to bringing her food and drink. She had become a bit...touched by then. Wallowing in grief for five decades would do that, wouldn't it? She raved often. About you, sometimes. About your father, some elf by the name of Fenris. But mostly about Sylvie Hawke."

Almost reflexively, Dominic said. "There is no Sylvie Hawke in the bloodline. You evidently have not done your research well enough."

"Once again, Deveron, it is you who have not done your research."

She reached for a drawer in her desk, and drew out a few rolled-up parchments. She handed over one to Dominic, who opened it to look upon a beautiful painting of a young elven boy dressed in a rich red shirt and smiling.

"Very distinctive nose, don't you find, Deveron? And that little mole under the left ear. Excellent eye for detail, that painter had. And don't miss that birthmark on the right arm, just under the wrist."

Dominic coloured.

"Thank you, I'll take that back. Try this one." She handed him another one, while taking back the first.

Dominic rolled it out on the desk and immediately took in his breath sharply. It was a miniature painting of a woman of marvellous beauty. In other circumstances, he would have whistled. Golden-haired, green-eyed, and proportioned like an hourglass, she was beauty personified. The painting depicted the woman in a revealing black dress, cut low at the breast and high at the legs. Next to the legs was written, in a scrawl, "With love to Orana, from Sylvie Hawke".

"There never was a Marian Hawke, Deveron. There never was a Marian Hawke, short-haired, tough as nails, sword-fighter extraordinaire. It was a myth made up to make the Hawke family palatable. She was a mage. She destroyed the Chantry and established herself in Kirkwall. Then, using her skills - blood magic, no doubt - she erased the traces of her magical past and legitimized her reign by spreading the story of being a fighter beyond compare. She was beyond compare, of course, but not as a fighter, as a mage. And your mother was a slave she rescued from a bunch of Tevinter slavers."

"Even if I accept that Orana was my mother, I do not see how the rest of it follows," said Dominic.

"You don't have to see it. I am telling you what I gathered from Orana. You see, Deveron, your mother was not just a lady-in-waiting. She also was a very close confidante of Sylvie Hawke. Who, by the way, is not buried under the gravestone of Marian Hawke that you see behind the Chantry."

She handed him the third and final parchment roll. This one was a letter, seemingly written in the same shaky scrawl that had signed the painting.

_"My dearest Orana, _(It read), _I'm sorry to have left like I did, but I want you to understand that there was no other way. Kirkwall needs a hero, and the longer I stay, the less likely is it that the glamour cast over the city will persist. My son I leave in the charge of you and Sebastian. Sebastian will be regent until Cailan is of age. Isabella and I have matters that require our attention to attend to. In a few months, Aveline will declare that I have died of a wasting sickness. Kirkwall will remember what I have done, and, I hope, cherish my memory, rather than poison it with the bitter aftertaste of who I am. Remember - Sylvie did not exist. It was Marian Hawke all the time. I shall try and return for you some day. _

_Yours with love,_

_Sylvie."_

"Clearly a forgery," said Dominic in a faltering voice. "Such an important letter would be encrypted."

"Oh but it is, my dear Deveron."

She took it from his hand and held it up. He watched as the words instantly faded away.

"Notice the faint discolouration at the corners? Blood magic, elf. The letters would only appear when the letter was held by Orana...or someone else of her blood. I last read it in your mother's hand, thirty years ago."

"Fine, so I am an escaped slave. I was a slave in Minrathous for forty years. After that I served in their army in the wars against the Qunari - which I thought would earn me my freedom, but of course, I was mistaken. I escaped twenty years ago and joined the Orlesian army. I was a part of the force that came here and took Kirkwall, and I've remained here since, rising to become Captain of the Guard."

"This much I know."

"But if you want to hear a stirring story about how I came to find what I could about my mother, you would be mistaken. I remember very little of her beyond her name and the fact that she worked in the Viscount's Keep. I never even tried to look for any trace of her in the Keep, for that matter. Why would there be any, of a mere servant?"

"She was more than a mere servant though, you know. I was quite young when I used to serve her, but maybe not as young as she thought - if she thought at all. You see, she showed me a key on a few occassions."

"What do you, a High Priestess of the Chantry, want with keys when all the wealth of the Empire is at your disposal?"

"Let us delve into history once again, Deveron. When Kirkwall acceded to the Empire, the Chantry tried to install a pliable man as Viscount. We had chosen a fool of a nobleman from Orlais, name of Cesare Montaigne."

"Firstly, call me Dominic. I have no memory of being anyone else. and Cesare Montaigne died at Qunari hands in Rivain."

"Cesare Montaigne led a force of forty Chevaliers and twice as many Templars to take the Keep. Darlene Hawke had surrendered, they just had to walk in and claim the throne. Not one of them made it into the throne room."

"What do you mean?"

"Something - or someone - killed every last one. No idea what. The same happened with everyone else who was sent there for the next month. We even sent mages loyal to the Chantry."

"Blood magic?" asked Dominic, curious despite himself.

"What else? We have no way to be certain, of course. Finally we found old De Laney. There was a strong rumour that his grandmother had been knocked up by Malcolm Hawke I. Sure enough, the so-called De Laney could enter and secure the throne."

"So the Viscount is..."

"Yes, he's actually a Hawke. Or his father was, at any rate. The bloodline continues of course."

"So what does this have to do with my mother's key?"

"It unlocks something inside the Keep. Something powerful enough to withstand everything the Empire threw at it for an entire month. Something that prevents us from really taking over Kirkwall. Maybe the same thing that killed the seven men the Empire had sent to keep an eye on the Viscount's affairs."

Dominic's mouth dropped open.

"I suspected the Silverhawks."

"It would be beyond those fools. No, there is something within the Keep, that your mother held the key to."

"And you called me here to - what? You cannot touch the key? It needs my blood? You need me to get to the bottom of this?"

The Priestess looked startled for a moment. The she smiled, a smile that quickly became a laugh and then ended in near-guffaws of mirth.

"Oh no, no no no, my dear Deveron, or Dominic, or whatever. You see, before I smothered your mother to death, she revealed to me exactly where the chamber was that the key unlocked and also that it did not need her touch to work at all. You see, Hawke had many lovers, and her son - the one who took the throne after her - was fathered, not by Sebastian Vael of Starkhaven as she would have known, but by an elf assassin by the name of Zevran. The key is tied to his blood. This key."

She showed him a small iron key, which looked quite unremarkable.

"Zevran was one of the original companions of the Hero of Ferelden. The same?"

"Perhaps. But it is not likely to be relevant, you see - the key is the blood. And last week, the Chantry in Antiva, while raiding a nest of Crows - Antivan Crows, you understand - found a phylactery with the name Zevran on it. I had the phylactery brought here."

"It could be any elf named Zevran," snorted Dominic.

"Yes, but it happened to be this elf named Zevran. You see, the key - it changes when I even bring it near to the phylactery. I'd show you, but the phylactery is kept under strict lock and key, so you will have to take my word for it."

"Wonderful. So you can walk into the Keep and take what you want, then. I'll hold my breath. Why call me here to tell me all this, though?"

"Oh, but Dominic, I did not call you here to tell you all this. I called you here to separate you from your precious Viscount. Telling you all this just helped to pass the time. The Templars should have reached that man's brothel or tavern or whatever it is by now. They will take swift action against the immoral activities, executing the whore Sally and whoever happens to be with her. Collateral damage, very unfortunate."

Dominic rose to his feet.

"Look, De Laney never harmed anyone. He has been a true friend of the Chantry..."

"Dominic, Dominic, Dominic. He is a Hawke. He has the blood of that woman running through his veins. You think the Chantry has forgotten what she did? We have always known! The glamour she had cast on the general population - the uprising against Chantry authority - it never penetrated through the Grand Cathedral. We would have acted against her, but she had disappeared. We would have moved against Kirkwall, but she had left us too weak, and her legend too strong. If a whoring De Laney is all that's left of the Hawke bloodline, we will still root it out. Kirkwall will become the fulcrum of our northward expansion! From here to Tevinter!"

"The Guards will stand against you! The City won't tolerate this! You cannot just assassinate our Viscount..."

"The Keep is already under siege, Dominic," said the Reverend Mother as a group of templars burst into the room. Before he could draw his sword, they swarmed all over him.

She droned on. "We will take this City again. We will drag De Laney's corpse from the brothel to the Keep and leave him to bleed on the steps. His son's blood will provide us protection while we enter the secret room and draw out the evil within. You - can wait it out in the dungeons below."


End file.
